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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22417279">A Typical* Morning In The Penthouse</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/gray_zelle/pseuds/gray_zelle'>gray_zelle</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Love And Squalezkaban: Collection #1 [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Series Of Unfortunate Events (Netflix)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, L&amp;S, gray-zelle squaleszkaban, gray-zelle squalezkaban, heads up for esme in lingerie but not as a nsfw thing she's chillin in her own house man, love and squalezkaban, squaleszkaban, squalezkaban, violence against hair dryers, violence against jugs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-01-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 03:40:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,649</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22417279</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/gray_zelle/pseuds/gray_zelle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>*This morning in the Penthouse of 667 Dark Avenue is anything but typical. Olivia, Jacquelyn and Esmé try to navigate it while still being cute about everything. </p>
<p>#1.04 in the Love And Squalezkaban series!!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jacquelyn Scieszka/Esmé Squalor, Olivia Caliban/Esmé Squalor, Olivia Caliban/Jacquelyn Scieszka, Olivia Caliban/Jacquelyn Scieszka/Esmé Squalor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Love And Squalezkaban: Collection #1 [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1592197</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Typical* Morning In The Penthouse</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/LemonsandRosemary/gifts">LemonsandRosemary</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmaryadmitrievna/gifts">msmaryadmitrievna</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitsnicketts/gifts">kitsnicketts</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>heads up for:<br/>- Esmé in lingerie again but it's not a nsfw thing, she's at home, y'know how it is<br/>- brief not descriptive implication of nudity but that's the whole point of showering is it not (if it makes it better the moment is short and Esmé is in a towel)<br/>- mild coarse language<br/>- violence against jugs and hair dryers<br/>- small fire and smoke<br/>- mention of the want to murder someone but oh a mood</p>
<p>this is also dedicated to olivia-caliban and olivia-caliban-coulson on tumblr!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Mornings in the Penthouse always followed the same routine. No deviations. Never a problem. Things were never shaken up, thrown out of control, or spun on their head or heel. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(Does that sound sarcastic, or not?)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Let’s take this morning, for example: </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Olivia woke to something in her hair, get your mind out of the gutter it’s a knot that festered as she slept. Said knot was almost painful to touch, and she dreaded the eventual moment she’d comb it out. Later than usual - today was her day off (!).</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jacquelyn, poor sweetheart, was needed from 9 to 5 every day. It was 7:15; she was spread across her bed side (yes, their new Built Bed!), head off her pillow and chin resting on her crooked arm. The frown nestled in her brow said she was clearly excited for the day ahead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When disturbed, she grumbled “No” into her arm, then rolled over. “I refuse. Not today.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, sweetheart; is going to work really all that bad?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s your day off.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Playing with her hair, Olivia gently nudged her girlfriend’s shoulder. “Come on, Jacquelyn. I don’t want you to be late. Can I make you breakfast?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That got her up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To the main kitchen they went, Olivia leading Jacquelyn there. They passed Esmé’s current favourite bathroom on the way, hearing both hot water gushing from shower pipes, and Esmé softly singing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Esmé’s voice, and Jacquelyn’s hand in hers, distracted Olivia from this strange feeling - one telling her that this morning wouldn’t be so routine. That things would… No. That wasn’t possible. Mornings were always the same in the Penthouse, thanks very much. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the main kitchen, Jacquelyn switched the jug on; she leaned against the bench and stretched. Olivia watched her, from the corner of her eye, while she got busy with the toaster. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sleep well, sweetheart?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Esmé was having an interesting conversation around 2am. About diamonds, I think. Or sandwiches. It wasn’t long, though.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Olivia now leaned back on the bench across from Jacquelyn, to grab more energy. They shared a glance, and a smile. Sunlight from the open curtains touched Olivia’s skin; it made Jacquelyn’s hair gold, and caught in her eyes. They sparkled when her smile widened.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yes, mornings in the Penthouse were always this perfect. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, Olivia noticed- “Jacquelyn, is the jug on?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It should be.” Turning to assess it, Jacquelyn flicked the switch again. Nothing happened. “Weird.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Olivia watched her yank it from its powerpoint, and put it back it in, to nothing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So no tea,” Olivia said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No tea. I think Esmé might freak out- Olivia, </span>
  <em>
    <span>look</span>
  </em>
  <span>-” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now, Olivia turned- finding the bread in the toaster </span>
  <em>
    <span>pitch </span>
  </em>
  <span>black, even smoking. She yanked the toaster’s cord from its point, then Jacquelyn arrived with a set of tongs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Be careful, sweetheart.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I will be.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jacquelyn yanked one piece out - it was on fire. A thin whisp of smoke travelled up, to the ceiling, and the smoke alarm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yes, the Penthouse had at least one smoke alarm. And it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>loud</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jacquelyn dropped the toast pieces in the sink, running cold water over them. Olivia found the broom in the kitchen pantry, and began hitting the alarm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s enough, now! Stop it, please!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Babe, it’s a smoke alarm.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s wrong with being polite?- Oh, shut up already, you bastard!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hit it harder, then let Jacquelyn try. It stopped. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A scream came from the bathroom. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dropping everything, they travelled to the door; they found Esmé beneath the bathroom’s heat light, shivering as she dried herself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It went cold on me. The water went </span>
  <em>
    <span>cold on me</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sounding a little pissed off, herself, Jacquelyn replied, “It happens in an apartment, babe.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Olivia couldn’t help but think that strange feeling was right.Yet she hoped this morning would improve, anyway, which </span>
  <em>
    <span>might </span>
  </em>
  <span>have been foolish of her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What would you like for breakfast, Esmé?” Jacquelyn asked, leaning on the doorway. “Toast is out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, it’s In. I know it’s In.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When she fixed up her towel, then struggled with the hairdryer, Olivia decided Esmé could wait to hear about the jug.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s wrong with this?- Oh. Oh, for </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>sake.” Esmé tossed the hairdryer at the bin (it missed), stirring confusion from her girlfriends. “What? It died last night, and I forgot. Now I have to confess, I want to kill someone, but of course, of </span>
  <em>
    <span>course</span>
  </em>
  <span>, neither of you, my darlings.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yep. She could wait.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jacquelyn grabbed another towel to dry her hair further; the towel around her frame slipped downward, but, being Esmé, she didn’t care.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trying not to get distracted, Olivia returned to the kitchen. The toaster wasn’t worth fixing - checking the pantry, she found they were out of pancake mix, and there was no time for homemade ones. (She’d have to make them this weekend.) And strangely enough, there was no bacon in the fridge or freezer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before she tossed bread in the grill beneath the oven, she studied the jug. Flicking the switch numerous times, to nothing, she tried to keep her head. Tried to see if she could make something right this morning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pleading with the universe didn’t help her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think it’s dead, babe,” Jacquelyn said, returning. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But the </span>
  <em>
    <span>tea</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Olivia insisted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Esmé can live without it for a morning. Surely she can- Oh, that’s genius, using the grill for toast!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you, sweetheart.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe this wouldn’t be difficult after all! </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then they heard “Darlings!” come from their bedroom. Olivia went, finding Esmé had retrieved some underwear (though slightly, perhaps, not safe for work). Her hair was still dripping, which looked like, let’s say, the most of her worries.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Olivia, darling, I don’t know what to do with my hair.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Dry it?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’ll never be dry at this rate, so, can you plait it for me please?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It won’t be nice, having a plaited length of wetness-” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well it’ll be obvious I left home without blow drying my hair today, like a complete </span>
  <em>
    <span>savage</span>
  </em>
  <span>. So help me hide it, please, Olivia.” She sat down on their bed, cross-legged, then clicked her tongue. She added please again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Olivia suppressed her sigh. Taking to the bed, she helped dry her hair a little further. Then she took the brush Esmé handed her, beginning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Plaiting was easy; Olivia had spent hours playing with her own hair, not to mention others’. Her girlfriends’ hair included. So Esmé’s hair was no trouble at all - in fact, it was something she could actually make right this morning. So while Esmé sat still for once, she plaited, giving all she had. The end result, just a single low plait she pulled Esmé’s bangs into, was perfect, if Olivia said so herself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She finished up by kissing Esmé’s cheek. Esmé thanked her, then got dressed in a steel grey suit top, and matching knee-length skirt. Olivia stayed to watch - watching her girlfriend admire herself in the mirror was always entertaining.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How do I look, darling?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Beautiful.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Esmé finally smiled. Passing their bed, she paused to brush back Olivia’s bangs, and kiss her forehead. It stunned her momentarily; she didn’t hear Esmé ask if she’d made tea yet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Naturally, Olivia’s heart stopped. Then she heard- </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“NO </span>
  <b>
    <em>TEA</em>
  </b>
  <span>?!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Olivia dashed back to find Esmé seething with red hot rage. (Jacquelyn stood there, watching, initially unphased.) Taking the jug, Esmé tried to make it work, then threw it at the floor; she ignored her girlfriends, tried it again, before going to throw it-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Not out the window, Esmé!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Jacquelyn yelled. She snatched it from Esmé’s hands, making her snap out of it (or at least, a little less homicidal). </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Watching her take several deep breaths, Olivia carefully asked, “What would you like on your toast, sweetheart?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Strawberry jam.” Sitting at the breakfast bar, she ran her hands over her plait, trying not to look like she’d been denied her human rights. “I suppose I could get Slyvie to bring some tea to the office. I’ll treat myself, and get something from that teashop that’s In.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good idea, sweetheart.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sitting down with a plate of grilled toast, Jacquelyn said, “I have no idea how I’d explain a jug plummeting 47* stories and killing someone. VFD would be baffled.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Remind them where I’m from,” Esmé offered, busy with her own toast.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That works.” Jacquelyn dropped her butter knife. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What is it, sweetheart?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her girlfriends watched her get up, toast slice in her mouth, and run down the hallway. Bringing her own plate, Olivia followed; she found Jacquelyn in her study, both frantically eating and frantically searching.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Babe, have you seen a VFD report I was writing up, about last week’s bust? I brought it home, I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but it’s not here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I haven’t seen it, sorry. Maybe Esmé has?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Running to the doorway, Jacquelyn yelled, “Esmé, did you burn a VFD report that I left on my desk?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>one </span>
  </em>
  <span>time!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That one had been a report of Beatrice’s, on Esmé herself, Olivia couldn’t remember which bygone crime in particular. It got a little unprofessional, according to Jacquelyn, so perhaps burning it was slightly justifiable. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Heaving a frustrated sigh, Jacquelyn kept looking. Olivia helped, as well. Only after she checked her meticulous piles three times - and destroyed them - did Jacquelyn give up, running her hands through her hair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>swear</span>
  </em>
  <span> I had it right here.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Want me to keep looking? So you can go get dressed.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean, you can try, but I think it’s gone.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Perhaps the universe would let Olivia have a little success. For Jacquelyn’s sake. She went through the piles again, aiming to salvage a bit of Jacquelyn’s order. The report was about Olaf’s latest arson attempt, which Jacquelyn busted that week. Olivia knew that. Just like she knew how </span>
  <em>
    <span>darn</span>
  </em>
  <span> hot Jacquelyn would’ve looked, beating up Olaf for the 23rd time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then </span>
  <em>
    <span>impending bruises to left cheekbone</span>
  </em>
  <span> caught her eye. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jacquelyn! I found it!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bringing the whole report to their bedroom, Olivia met the relieved spark in her girlfriend’s eyes. She accepted her tight hug. Then, she helped with today’s sash, tying it over her tweed suit. Jacquelyn was capable of doing it herself, but, why not? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Turning around from her Hollywood-mirrored-duchess, Esmé said, “Told you I didn’t burn it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I never entirely suspected you, babe-“ when Olivia pressed the report into Jacquelyn’s grasp, her face fell. “Oh, baby, thank you, but…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That clearly wasn’t the one. Olivia mumbled an apology, and though Jacquelyn wasn’t upset at all, she couldn’t help but want this morning to end sooner.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Olivia sat on their bed and folded some laundry while, squished together at the duchess, Jacquelyn and Esmé did their makeup. It was the last thing they did of a morning - a completely routine, normal, perfect morning. Where Esmé got her hair dry, and a cup of tea, and Jacquelyn had all her VFD files accounted for. On a morning where Olivia actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>helped </span>
  </em>
  <span>her girlfriends get ready, and had no trouble making things right, or even needing to make things right.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She heaved a quiet sigh, so they wouldn’t hear. Hopefully this morning’s ridiculousness was only confined to the Penthouse - so Olivia’s girlfriends could arrive at work, find everything normal again, and turn around their day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Olivia could turn today around for herself, too. After doing a little cleaning, she was planning on sorting through her closet, then searching for the library the Penthouse </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>to have. Esmé hadn’t confirmed or denied the existence of one, thus, Olivia was determined to answer her question for herself - she couldn’t bear to leave her books in boxes any longer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And if this morning’s strangeness continued past, say, 11am, she could simply leave the Penthouse. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they finished their makeup, Olivia’s girlfriends retrieved their handbags. They both sat on their bed’s side, to kiss her goodbye. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have a good day, sweethearts,” Olivia said. “I hope everything works out once you leave.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It should,” Esmé replied. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And that nothing else happens.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, don’t worry about the report, okay, baby?” Jacquelyn gently said. She kissed Olivia’s forehead again. “I probably left it at work. Either way, it’ll turn up. And since I’m handing it to myself, anyway, I can get an extension on it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cheat,” Esmé sneered. “Oh! I better ask Sylvie to pop into that teashop.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Esmé made for the phone on its own little table, next to the dresser. Just as she went to grab it, it rang - scaring her a little. She answered it anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes?...Are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>kidding</span>
  </em>
  <span>?!... I’ll tell her.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dropping the receiver, she whipped around to Olivia. “Darling, I’m not kidding, and whoever that was is </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely </span>
  </em>
  <span>not kidding. The library needs you to work today.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Olivia hadn’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>asked </span>
  </em>
  <span>if this morning could worsen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Heaving a sigh, she got up and made for her closet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, babe, we’ll help you,” Jacquelyn said; she went to button up Olivia’s yellow blouse the second she tugged it on. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let me help with your hair, darling.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And do you need to bring anything with you?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was hard not to smile, and let her racing heart feel nothing but love.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll get Sylvie to deliver some tea to the library, too.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Olivia didn’t think that necessary, yet Esmé persisted, busying herself with the phone. By then, Jacquelyn had lead her to the duchess, and was powdering her face while she got to work on that knot.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wouldn’t entirely budge. Olivia </span>
  <em>
    <span>swore </span>
  </em>
  <span>she heard strands of her hair ripping in two; and felt it, too. She let Jacquelyn take over, then applied her mascara herself, to be safe. By then, Esmé was standing behind them, her reflection holding Olivia’s satchel.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Darling, wouldn’t you like some lipstick for a change? Just for today?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Esmé’s fingers bunched up her knotless hair, Olivia struggled to ignore the feeling (and the length of said fingers). It was making her work flats hard to slip into. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe? If it’s just for today.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thankfully, Jacquelyn spritzed her finished bun with hairspray - Esmé could get out of control with it sometimes. Olivia now caught Esmé’s gleaming smirk, saying she was up to something. As long as they weren’t late, she didn’t mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good. And I have the Innest colour for you, darling.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then Esmé grasped her shoulders, turned her around, and kissed her lips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Both her girlfriends sighed, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Esmé</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” in starkly different tones. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t help myself,” Esmé grinned to Jacquelyn. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The look Jacquelyn gave her said, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bring it on</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Fix Olivia’s lipstick in the car. We’ve gotta go- Your chariot, m’lady.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Jacquelyn</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” Olivia shrieked, laughing. Jacquelyn, laughing herself, only tightened her grip around her waist and legs, bridal-style carrying her from their bedroom. Esmé, muttering to herself, picked up Olivia’s flat that fell. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t</span>
  <em>
    <span> help myself,</span>
  </em>
  <span> babe!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You sure can’t,” Esmé sighed. She stood and watched Jacquelyn struggle with the Penthouse doors, still holding Olivia. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll carry you tomorrow, okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Olivia laughed as Esmé considered the offer, then rested her head on Jacquelyn’s shoulder as they descended the staircase. Though she was irritated work had called this late, potentially making Jacquelyn and Esmé late too, she had to admit - she was thankful she was getting out of the Penthouse. Who </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew </span>
  </em>
  <span>where things would’ve lead if she hadn’t. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, yes, this morning had been far from routine. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Far </span>
  </em>
  <span>from normal. Let’s just say… less than perfect.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe Olivia was mad for thinking this, but: this morning hadn’t been </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>that bad.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As they descended - she eventually left Jacquelyn’s arms, in case they fell downward - Olivia decided, nothing could really be bad with her girlfriends around. They would help to fix things, or would cheer Olivia up when everything went down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they made it to the lobby, Olivia took both Jacquelyn and Esmé’s hands, to lead them to Esmé’s private garage. And to,, </span>
  <em>
    <span>hopefully, </span>
  </em>
  <span>a good day. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then Jacquelyn blanched; feeling her pockets, she swore- “I forgot the Chevelle keys!” </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>* i know the Snicket Wiki says that there's not 47 or 84 667 Dark Avenue floors, there's apparently 66, Jacquelyn just. doesn't know i guess</p>
<p>oh and since Esmé is close to a mirror twice i guess i subconsciously penned my sadness over this fic being incomplete bc wow?? the premise is amazing: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11813058/chapters/26651670</p></blockquote></div></div>
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